Cycles
By
John I. Blair
With every turn of wheels
I roll on years of memories,
Flushing them like dry leaves.
This road is one I haven’t seen
Since cows loomed stately
Out of rough-hewn fields.
I miss the froggy ponds,
The snarky farm dogs chasing me,
The wildflower-wafting breezes.
Too soon the town erupted;
Too soon the horizontal
Concrete megaliths prevailed.
For miles the houses flow
In blocks, in rows, adrift
On mollycoddled lawns.
The past’s erased.
Now’s all we have. The future’s
Onerous to contemplate.
©John I. Blair 2007
(Previously published in the September 2007 Post Oak)
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